Paris Debut
by Enjolrass
Summary: One shot, modern AU, in which Enjolras is Spider-Man. E/R.


He knew he'd really fucked up from the moment Grantaire stormed out of the café. They'd been in arguments before, just as heated as this one, but this time he'd snapped completely. The look on Grantaire's face right before he left sent waves of regret washing over him, and that was how he knew he'd really done it this time.

Enjolras ignored the burning stares of his friends, and the barely whispered "good luck fixing this one" from Courfeyrac, though the comment fueled him enough to actually walk out of the café moments after the cynic had. But he was already halfway down the street, and they both needed a moment to cool down.

It didn't take long to reach the alley behind the Musain, and once he was there, Enjolras jumped. His hands and feet clung to the brick walls, creating an almost tingly sensation that rushed through his veins for an instant. He scaled the back wall in seconds, and hopped onto the roof.

Stairways that went the same way were too easy, and doing something mildly productive at least blew off some steam.

The top of the Musain was by far his favorite perch. It offered an average view of an average part of town, but it was, for the most part, quiet and untouched, save for by him and the owners of the café. He came up here often just to think, to collect his racing thoughts and clear his mind, and most times, when he had to make a decision. It shouldn't have been a hard one- he owed Grantaire an apology for outright insulting him, but then again, he wasn't very good at apologizing.

Enjolras swung his legs over the ledge of the building facing the side alley. Days like this were practically routine- Grantaire believed in nothing, made snide comments about social reform, pissed him off, and he yelled. He didn't _mean_ to yell. He cared about Grantaire, perhaps more than he wanted to admit.

A lot more.

And he knew Grantaire cared, at least about him. He wasn't blind. He knew Grantaire was very nearly in love with him, and he… well, he couldn't quite tell how he felt. He'd never been put in such a position before. The concept of love from anyone, directed at him, was foreign. Loving someone was just as bad.

Minutes of staring out at the empty street beside him passed. It was his phone buzzing in his pocket that jolted him from his reverie.

**R**: Sorry.

He paused, sighing down at the alley guiltily. Grantaire hardly had any reason to be sorry- he'd done the chastising, and it had been all downhill from there. This was on him.

**E**: Can we talk?

**R**: I'm at my place.

**E**: On my way.

Pocketing his phone, he mentally calculated the distance from the Musain to Grantaire's apartment. It was a good 20 minute walk, and if he did any more thing, he'd end up talking himself out of the exchange altogether. He'd been rude enough as it was, and he was determined to fix things.

Enjolras hopped up onto the ledge, trotting over to the front of the Musain, and jumped over the edge.

He pressed two fingers to the palm of his hand, and once he was halfway to the ground a thick white strand of webbing had caught hold of the building diagonal from the Musain. He ducked onto the roof there, haphazardly glancing back to see if anyone had seen him, but it was too late at night for that. It was a good thing, too- he'd left his suit in his backpack at home.

It only took a good five minutes to reach the roof of Grantaire's apartment building. From there, he scaled down the side and around until he reached his fire escape and, from where he'd crouched on the stairs, knocked on his window.

In seconds, the familiar mess of dark curls peered through the blinds confusedly, but all the same rolled them up and opened the window.

"… Want to tell me why you're out here?" Grantaire asked slowly. "I have a door, you know."

Enjolras shrugged. He probably should've thought this one out. "Look, I'm sorry about tonight. I was out of line- I've _been_ out of line."

"No, it's not you, I antagonize you-"

"Grantaire." The brunette sighed, then after a pause, swung his legs over to sit on the windowsill. Enjolras continued. "You have every right to having your own opinion. I'm sorry I've tried to take that from you."

Grantaire's eyes lifted to meet his, and Enjolras couldn't help softening at how vulnerable he looked. How helpless. He'd never spoken to him like this, never been so apologetic or sympathetic.

It took him a moment, but Enjolras eventually stood up on the fire escape and opened up his arms. Grantaire only stared for quite some time, the helpless look increasing tenfold, until he finally rushed into Enjolras' arms and hugged his shoulders tightly. The feel of Grantaire in his arms, of Grantaire's forehead leaning in the crook of his neck, of hugging him almost protectively, rocking him back and forth reassuringly, felt a lot better than he'd readily admit.

"Are you going to tell me how you got up here?" Grantaire finally murmured, much to his dismay. "And all the way from the Musain, no less."

So maybe he should've walked.

Enjolras stepped back, sitting on the stairway, his intense thought process showing through in his face. Frowning, Grantaire leaned his back against the railing. "What?"

"You'd never believe me," was all he could come up with. Not his finest choice of words. But Grantaire's blue eyes seemed to shine brighter in the near darkness, and with the vulnerability still there, it was perfectly acceptable for his thinking to be muddled, or so he reasoned.

"Try me."

He'd feared that answer, and all he could manage was an awkward glance at the window, then down to his hands, and the little silver button attached to the mesh glove fitted to his wrist and around his thumb. What was he supposed to say?

Grantaire sighed, defeated, and cast his gaze down to the street. Enjolras' eyes shot up, almost missing the way Grantaire looked at him, the beautiful blue of his eyes, his gaze- he felt suddenly disconnected and empty… and then he knew.

He didn't offer another answer. Instead he jumped up and, before Grantaire could turn, pressed two fingers to the silver button, catching Grantaire's waist with his web and pulled him in for a kiss.

Immediately Grantaire froze up, and Enjolras would've pulled away fearfully if he hadn't felt his arms curl around his neck, or his hand fist into his hair. He set his hands on Grantaire's waist, pulling him firmly against himself. He couldn't say he'd ever really thought about kissing Grantaire- honestly, the only time he'd ever thought about kissing was when Courfeyrac threatened to do so- but suddenly his chest felt tingly, and Grantaire's body felt soft and warm against his, and it felt just perfect. Just perfect.

Grantaire ended up breaking the kiss, albeit minutes later. His eyes were wide in awe, which set Enjolras' heart fluttering. "You're… you're _Spider-Man_."

Enjolras didn't respond, besides a flickering smile and another kiss. In fact, he had every intention of spending the rest of the night doing just that.

And then he heard a scream, followed by sirens. Shit.

They weren't nearby, so he could easily sneak over to his place- which was, if he remembered correctly, only ten minutes away- and get his suit. He broke the kiss reluctantly, squeezed Grantaire's waist, slipped out of his arms, and hopped over the railing.

Eyes going wide, Grantaire ducked his head over the railing to look down at the street after him- but it was too late. He was already swinging out of sight.

Grantaire sighed, plopping back down onto the windowsill.

"I am in so much trouble."


End file.
